


In the Afternoon

by cowgirldressage1



Series: Part 2 All Day Long [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, old married spirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 13:28:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9125713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowgirldressage1/pseuds/cowgirldressage1
Summary: This is a companion piece to In the Morning which was part of the Old Married Spirk Challenge last month and the second in the series of All Day Long.  Spock returns from a month long conference off planet and reflects on his fears about Jim aging.  It can be read as a stand alone.  Generations never, ever, happened.  This takes place after the Final Frontier. Jim and Spock are probably in their 70s or 80s.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plaidshirtjimkirk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk/gifts).



> Don't own it. Don't make profit from it. Just play with it. (Star Trek in case that wasn't obvious) No beta, all mistakes are mine and reflect how little attention I paid in school.

In the Afternoon

S’chn T’gai Spock was well known for his patience. He tolerated endless speeches, specious arguments, and illogical tirades with equinity in his role as professor, consultant, and the Federation’s Ambassador at Large. Only a very few knew that behind that implacable façade lurked an ill-tempered, easily annoyed, irrationally irritated Vulcan when confronted with one particular issue. The Press. He’d tried to overcome it. He’d meditated on it, sought counsel from good and solid advisors such as his father and of course, his husband, Captain James T. Kirk. The former had raised an eyebrow with some humor. The latter had laughed outright and suggested he “suck it up”. Essentially, the same advice from both of them.

Kelliahn Kahnway of Galaxy News Network was a famously infamous noted purveyor of political unrest within the Federation. As a journalist, her interviews often involved shouting, biased opinions, and illogical conclusions. Spock found her tiresome in the extreme. Because she was so popular Federation-wide, it had become increasingly difficult to avoid meeting with her on the subject of the Kaiosian admission to the Federation. Kahnway was a known isolationist and Spock knew ahead of time the interview would be skewed to keeping Kaios out. 

Of course the interview was to be broadcast over both Federation and Starfleet channels, making Spock even more circumspect in his answers than he might be. Of course the interview was scheduled the night before he was to return home to Jim, whose increasingly restive mood was beginning to concern him. Of course the room on Mars Station in which the interview was taking place was positively frigid, even by human standards.

Spock eyed Kahnway’s short tunic, high heels, and somewhat untidy hair and sighed internally. It was going to be an unpleasant hour.

“So, Ambassador Spock, you theoretically met with the Kaiosian representatives who . . .”

“Whom.”

“Sorry?”

“In Federation standard, ‘whom’.” Spock willed himself to not antagonize her.

“Very well, whom historically have had strong ties with the Klingon Empire and . . .”

“Not theoretically, I did in fact meet with Ambassador Kirin.” Spock mentally kicked himself. He was not behaving.

“So you did. But do you admit the Kaiosians have a financial relationship with . . .”

“M. Kahnway, although I am familiar with Kaiosian history to the degree they have shared both cultural and economic information with us, no individual whom is not a Kaiosian leader, diplomat or cultural attaché knows the degree to which Kaios is or has been associated with the Klingon Empire.” Spock could easily visualize his father’s sigh and Jim rolling his eyes. He had to get the interview under control. Cold, Spock shifted uncomfortably and covered the movement by re-draping his robe around himself.

“Let me begin with the Kaiosian’s initial request for diplomatic relations, their historical association and trade agreements with several associated Federation worlds, the . . . “

The interview was over in twenty-three minutes and forty-six seconds. At the conclusion, M. Kahnway was wide eyed and speechless, and Spock, known for his diplomatic skills and ability to bulldoze through any meeting if required, attributes acquired from long association with his husband, was free to go home. 

\--

The overnight shuttle from Mars Colony to San Francisco was mercifully uncrowded. Nevertheless, Spock was cold, fatigued and worried. He could feel Jim’s distress through the bond. Jim had been lonely and increasingly depressed over the twenty-one days, eight hours and a handful of minutes Spock had been gone at the conference to consider the Kaiosian admittance.

Bonds between Humans and Vulcans were still rare and varied from couple to couple greatly, depending on their individual natures. Spock and Jim had discovered distance and time attenuated their bond. Spock found himself increasingly irritable and lost the ability to fully concentrate. It was of no consequence. Jim, however, became depressed, his mercurial nature compressed into a narrow, destructive stream of negative thoughts and emotions. That was of great concern to Spock.

It hadn’t always been that way. When they were younger, they had been separated by star systems and on one occasion, a year. It had been difficult but they had soldiered through without any noticeable lack of efficiency. Now, as they had both aged, it was different.

Spock settled deeper into the shuttle’s seat and turned the heat higher. He could admit to himself that he was afraid. Afraid of Jim growing older, afraid of Jim changing into someone . . . less, afraid of losing Jim altogether.

The physical aspects of aging had left Spock mostly untouched. As a full Vulcan, he’d be considered in his prime. As a half Vulcan, there were signs that he was growing older faster than his peers. He had silver in his hair, he was not as agile as he once was, and his hands hurt when he played the lyre. Mostly, he felt the cold. It wrapped around him and bled into his bones like a poison. 

Jim’s aging was like the cold. It felt relentless, encroaching on everything Jim was. His husband had slowed. Sometimes he was out of breath after climbing the stairs in their old Victorian. He’d tripped on those stairs two months ago and although mostly embarrassed, Spock watched with barely disguised fear as deep bruises bloomed under thinner skin and witnessed Jim’s new cautiousness when moving around the house.

His beloved, his husband, was becoming increasingly fragile. The thought was ice in his belly and panic in the back of his mind. When they were apart, Spock knew Jim was increasingly aware of growing older. He also knew Jim was afraid, not just of changing, but that something might happen when Spock was gone. And Jim feared that reliance on Spock more than anything and hated that Spock was well aware of it.

Over time, Spock learned that Jim couldn’t handle whatever shields he’d erect to protect him from Spock’s concerns. The worst times of their marriage could be attributed to Jim’s fury and then resignation when he felt Spock pull away. It was not a mistake Spock would make again.

Growing old was logical as were the changes that came with it. Spock could accept Jim, old, frail, stooped. But the changes in his personality were not something he could face with equinity. His brave, loving, exuberant, curious, irresponsible, occasionally infuriating mate must not fade into gray. 

Spock made an illogical impatient noise at the difficult traffic around the Port of San Francisco. Not for the first time he regretted they had locked out site-to-site transporter use to their home. It was a security issue. Neither of them would risk unsolicited visitors. Still, it was damn inconvenient. Spock gratefully flagged down a hover car and suggested the computer make haste to their address near Golden Gate Park.

With a sigh, Spock unlocked their old fashion wood door and quietly climbed the stairs to their bedroom. He had to dodge their cat Dial who waited impatiently at the top of the landing. The bedroom door was ajar and creaked as he pushed it inward to the large old-fashioned room. Jim had left the curtains open, letting in the morning light from the bay window. It striped the bed and the sleeping man stretched across it. Jim was face down, buried in Spock’s pillow, snoring gently. He didn’t wake but Spock could feel Jim reaching toward him through the bond. Contentment filled them both. Spock considered climbing into bed and curling around his warm husband but Jim’s restiveness was passing and he’d sleep well for a couple of hours if he weren’t disturbed. 

Spock silently went down to the kitchen and set up the coffee for his Jim, fed Dial who up until that point had been quiet but now was loudly demanding breakfast. He made himself tea and reflectively gazed out into their small garden at the back of the house. He frowned at the condition of his herbs and vegetables. Spock didn’t expect Jim to garden when he was gone, but usually he would do a bit of weeding. With a pang, Spock realized Jim’s knees would pain him or, worse, that he hadn’t noticed the condition of the plants. Kaiidth.

With a sigh, he put down his tea and grabbed his trowel and gloves. The garden would keep him busy until Jim woke up. 

\--

Gardening was meditative. Spock easily lost himself in the repetitive physical movement. Great satisfaction came from improving the bed, touching each and every plant, noting changes, improvements, disappointments when something didn’t take root. Spock was looking askance at line of Andorian beets when he felt Jim. He didn’t need to raise his head to know Jim was standing at the kitchen window, probably leaning on the counter, wide strong hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. 

As Spock finished up, he felt a thrum of sadness through the bond. Jim was winding himself up. With an agility that belied his age, Spock was on his feet and in the kitchen in a few heartbeats.

Jim was leaning over the sink, head down, shivering. Spock wrapped his arms around him, rested his chin on Jim’s still broad shoulders, and breathed in his husband’s scent.

“Spock.” Jim said his name like a mantra, leaning back into Spock’s arms and covering his lover’s hands with his own.

“Jim. I have missed you.”

Their bond opened wide and Spock could see the shadows of thoughts that moments ago had tormented Jim. Like mist, they dissipated as though they were never there. Spock noted them though and filed them away along with a frisson of fear that he was losing Jim, bit by bit, in tiny pieces. But not today.

They stood together in the morning light, rocking slightly in each other’s arms, content. Dial protested attention not devoted to him and complained loudly on the counter. Jim chuckled and still wrapped in Spock’s arms, reached for his food bowl.

Spock didn’t stop him but felt compelled to point out, “Jim, I fed him forty-five minutes ago.”

“Ah,” Jim spoke directly to the cat. “You are lying to us, eh?”

“Cats are incapable of subterfuge, Jim. They are motivated only by instinct.”

Jim laughed and turned in his arms, tweaking Spock’s ear gently. “Really? Aren’t Vulcans descended from felines?”

“And we can not lie.”

“Yet my friend, I watched your interview last night and you stated twice it was a pleasure.”

“Well, I . . .”

“Exactly!”

Spock knew all was well then. Jim was still Jim, teasing and mischievous. All the darkness and worry for both of them was chased away for the moment. And now they could get to the serious business of being reunited. But first, Dial needed to be fed. Again. Immediately.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a review if you are inclined.


End file.
